


And a Prayer for Luck

by Harlow R (harlowrd)



Series: PJO/ASOIAF AU [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlowrd/pseuds/Harlow%20R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Percy Snow set out of White Harbor with the very general goal to try his luck at knighthood in King’s Landing, and the very precise goal of making the world forget Sally Manderly ever bore a bastard son, he didn’t quite plan the specific details of his journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And a Prayer for Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Written by request; this is a stand-alone, although I might write other stuff in the same universe in case I ever get the urge to use all the headcanon I came up with in order to merge these two worlds. I found they go surprisingly well together, though I'm not sure there's much overlap in these fandoms.

When Percy Snow set out of White Harbor with the very general goal to try his luck at knighthood in King’s Landing, and the very precise goal of making the world forget Sally Manderly ever bore a bastard son, he didn’t quite plan the specific details of his journey. So, with an extra change of clothes and some dried fruit and meat in his knapsack, and Riptide on his hip, he’d sailed down to Maidenpool in a boat too ridiculous for anyone but the son of Poseidon to be travelling such a long distance in, used his father-given talents to whisper a horse away from some poor farmer, and finally found himself face down in the mud behind a shoddy inn, horse dead a few feet away and three blades digging into the skin of his back.

“I told you,” he muttered into the mud. “It’ll just come back to me. That’s how it works.”

“Is that so?” the largest of the men asked, his tone derisive. Riptide gleamed in his hand as it caught the light. “And what if we kill you? What will it come back to then, eh?”

“To my grave,” Percy lied, turning his head to speak more clearly. “It’ll always come back to wherever I am.” In truth, he had no idea what would happen to Riptide if he died. Perhaps its loyalty transferred to its new owner, even if they weren’t a godbastard, although he didn’t see how useful it could possibly be to someone who went through life unbothered by monsters – of the supernatural kind, anyway. There were plenty monsters of the human variety as well, but against those Riptide was worth little and less, a fact of which Percy had been reminded very recently.

One of the other ones, the one with the big ears, leaned close enough that Percy could smell his sour breath. “And if we cut you into tiny little pieces and scatter ‘em? Leave ‘em out ’til the crows get ‘em? Will it follow the crows around, flying through the land like an arrow?”

The other two laughed, and the movement made the points of their swords dig harder into his skin. “Then it’ll go back to the sea,” he insisted. “Where it came from.” As he said it, it sounded more and more likely.

“Right! From ye daddy,” the third one quipped, “Poseidon!’ He paused for effect. All three burst out laughing. “If 'e cared so much about ye, why didn’t 'e give ye a blade that can actually cut?” More laughter. He was about to ask them what in Hades they wanted it for then, if it couldn’t cut people, when a woman’s voice spoke from behind them. 

“You’re right.” 

Percy actually _felt_ their surprise through the swords at his back; then, he heard the unmistakable sound of blade cutting through flesh. With a grunt, the third man dropped beside him. Percy turned his head to the other side and saw the man’s eyes, wide open, and a widening blood stain on the front of his shirt. The sharp pressure on his back eased as the other two men clearly became occupied with something else.

Unnoticed, Percy rose and brushed some of the mud off his arms. When he turned around, he faced the last thing he ever expected to see, especially in the South. A woman – a girl, really, probably around his own age – dressed in men’s clothes and armor, long, curly blond hair tied back, facing his attackers with a steel longsword and a scowl. For a minute the whole scene seemed absurd to him; how could a small girl like her take on two grown men, no doubt stronger and more experienced in sword fighting than her? He felt a twinge of shame at having no way to help her without a blade himself, but before he could wallow too much in the feeling the men charged and she avoided both their jabs, slipping under and between them too quickly for him to fully appreciate it. Sour-breath stumbled forward with the momentum, but the big one recovered sooner. She turned and lunged at him; he parried, then grunted as steel met steel. 

From the corner of his eye, Percy noticed Sour-breath moving closer; unthinking, he ran toward him and tackled, wincing as his hand caught the edge of the blade. With the man’s bony frame underneath him, Percy awkwardly kicked sideways at the sword, intending to put some distance between Sour-breath’s hand and its handle, but the man used his distraction to invert their positions. Straddling Percy’s waist and effectively pinning his arms, Sour-breath ( _sour everything_ , Percy concluded now that he was in a position to take a closer sniff) placed a forearm against Percy’s neck and removed a dagger from his boot. His smile showed rotten teeth and the promise of things Percy had no desire to experience in this lifetime.

But before he could lower the blade, the tip of a sword bloomed from his chest. Some of the blood gushed warmly on Percy, and he tried his hardest not to gag. He reached out to push the man sideways and off of him, but it wasn’t necessary; the girl had already done it as she pulled her sword free. Percy struggled to stand as she wiped the steel clean on the man’s trousers. Her opponent also lay dead several feet away. 

He spared a sad glance at his dead horse as well, killed because its loyalty to Percy’s blood was stronger than the fear and its instinct was to protect him in the face of danger. At least one of his saviors would live to see the stars tonight.

He looked back at the girl. “Well…thank you, I suppose." 

“That was the most pathetic fight I’ve ever seen,” she replied, nodding at him and Sour-breath. “You seem like you have no combat training whatsoever.” Percy scowled. “And you _suppose_? I saved your bloody life,” she added before he could say anything.

For several seconds, he couldn’t get a word out. “I have had training,” he finally clarified, but it made him feel even more pathetic. It was true enough; back in White Harbor, all noble boys got thorough combat training, even baseborn ones. They would all eventually be called upon to fight whenever their liege lord so required. He’d been too young, last time, to join King Robb’s troops – and now there were no troops and no King in the North.

Either way, he would have discovered that training in a controlled environment was very different from being in an actual fight. The girl only snorted.

“Let me look at that hand,” she said. He looked down at his right hand and the amount of blood mildly startled him; he’d forgotten he’d cut it. The wound immediately started to ache – no wonder, as the rush of the fight wore off.

“It’s fine.” She watched as he bent to pick up Riptide off the ground and awkwardly placed it back in its scabbard with his left hand, then collected his fallen knapsack. Next, he closed his eyes, concentrating. He’d distinctly felt a water source nearby when he arrived – probably not much larger than a creek – but the men had surrounded him before he could investigate further. Percy couldn’t quite explain how he knew; water was simply always present in his awareness. He turned to walk toward it.

“Don’t be stupid,” she insisted, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m not,” he said, but didn’t stop. She followed him.

"That needs to be cleaned.” Her tone indicated that he was the most disgraceful creature she had ever met.

“No need.”

“What do you mean, ’no need’?”

“Watch.”

She did. When they arrived at the creek, her eyes followed him curiously as he waded into it until the water was up to his thighs. Percy submerged his right hand, and immediately felt the tingle of skin and flesh mending themselves as the blood washed away. Simply being in the water was like a balm for his entire body; it was as if the stress from the attack simply melted out of him and into the flowing creek. He felt invigorated and strong.

Percy lifted his hand out of the water and extended it toward the girl. Her jaw dropped. He couldn’t hold back a smirk. 

Without waiting for her to reply, he crouched down and went under, willing the currents to wash away the mud and dirt from his skin, hair, and clothes. He could breathe just as easily underwater, but he was careful not to alarm the girl by staying under too long. As he emerged, he willed the water to seep out of his clothes and walked toward her, clean and dry. She recovered more quickly this time, adopting a nonchalant look. “Son of Poseidon, is it? I suppose you were telling them the truth then.”

“Of course I was.”

“I knew you were a godbastard too, or you couldn’t have had that sword,” she nodded at Riptide. “But a son of one of the Big Three? I’m impressed.” She started walking away from the banks and toward the road; he followed.

“You could have fooled me,” he grumbled. It took him a few seconds to realize the meaning of her words: this girl was a godbastard too, just like him. The notion fascinated him; he’d never met another one before. Percy felt like hevhad a million questions to ask her, but she seemed like the type that wouldn’t have the patience for his curiosity. So he settled for asking them over time and trying not to give her the wrong impression by staring too much at her – this young woman who shared the trait that had always defined his entire identity: a non-human half. “You mean it’s not…common?”

The girl looked at him like he was stupid. “Of _course_ not. They don’t choose to sire a child with just anyone. Don’t you know anything?”

_Apparently not._ “My mother never spoke much of him. I only know what everyone else learns at the sept.”

She frowned. “Strange that they wouldn’t give you special education.”

“Well…not many people believed my mother when she told them who my father was.”

That seemed to surprise her. “Oh."

“Why?” he prodded. “Do people believe _your_ mother?”

“My _father_ ,” she corrected coldly. Then her tone became softer – almost apologetic. “And...yes, they do.” 

“Who are your parents?” he asked, half-expecting her to roll her eyes at him in annoyance.

“I’m the eldest child of Lord Frederick Chase, bannerman to Lord Mace Tyrell. My mother is Athena.” Percy stopped to look at her. He’d never seen Athena in person – or any of the gods, really – but this girl didn’t look much like the statues and paintings he’d seen. Her tanned skin and grey eyes held a fiery warmth that seemed almost too intense to be contained by human flesh. He supposed that was how a godbastard might seem to outside eyes; was he like that, too?

She turned toward him. “I’m Annabeth,” she added, like she was giving up a secret. “Annabeth Flowers.”

“Percy Snow,” he said, bowing to the lady as he’d been taught to do. “My mother is Sally Manderly."

“You’re related to Lord Wyman.”

“My mother is a distant niece.”

Annabeth nodded, then continued to walk. “Did your father give you that sword?”

“After a fashion. He appeared to me in a dream, and when I awoke, it was on my bed beside me. I’ve never laid eyes on him. Have you ever seen your mother?”

“Once.” She hesitated. “When I resolved to leave my father’s home. It was a private decision, but somehow she knew. She gave me this,” she listed, unsheathing the dagger that had been hanging on her hip alongside the sword he saw earlier. It was celestial bronze, like Riptide. “And this,” she continued, pointing to the regular steel sword. He remembered what she had said before she killed his attackers and wondered himself, a little hurt, why his father hadn’t given him a means to defend himself from mortals as well. “And this,” she finished, sounding embarrassed. Percy frowned as he studied the third item; it looked suspiciously like a— 

“It’s a veil,” she clarified, cold as ice. Percy smirked. A lady’s veil wasn’t exactly congruent with Annabeth’s masculine clothes and weapons.

“The use for the sword and dagger I can deduce,” he started delicately. “But...why would your mother give you a veil?” Perhaps she had meant to remind Annabeth to behave like a lady. If so, it seemed to be failing.

They stopped close to the road. Annabeth looked around; satisfied that there was no one else nearby, she unfolded the veil, placed it over her head, and vanished.

Percy’s eyes frantically searched the spot she’d been standing in half a second before, but there was only grass. He was about to call out her name when he heard her voice, coming from that exact same spot. “I’m still here.” Percy reached out, careful, and, sure enough, his fingers found her shoulder. She pulled the veil off and instantly became visible once again; she then cautiously folded it back into a small triangle and tucked it into her armor.

“That,” Percy began, “is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. Even if does have to be a lady’s veil,” he added, smiling despite her frown. Then her face softened.

“My mother said sometimes a woman’s power lies in subtlety, and that I shouldn’t scorn femininity in favor of masculinity.”

Percy thought about it. “Well, she’s not wrong.”

Annabeth gave him a sardonic smile. “She never is. Never let her believe you doubt that.” Percy wasn’t certain how earnest she was being. “It’s simply tough advice to follow in Westeros.” He supposed it was.

“Well,” she began, suddenly brisk. “We should probably get as far away from here as possible before someone discovers our little…mess behind the inn. I…I guess this is goodbye, then.” She held out her hand.

Percy weighed his options. “Where are you headed?”

She lowered her hand and her face became guarded. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted, after a long pause. “Nowhere.” 

“What a coincidence,” he said, smiling. “That’s where I’m going, too."


End file.
